


eleven minutes.

by Seeingredfics



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Description of blood, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 23:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeingredfics/pseuds/Seeingredfics
Summary: Stan was used to the violence and horror on the streets of New York City, especially with the type of business his family was involved in. But what he wasn't used to was worrying so much about his right hand man.





	eleven minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the IT Reverse Big Bang! It's not my best work, but I did my best to give Xan's work justice, their art is beautiful so please check them out!

**-Eleven-**

_ It was cold. Freezing cold. Whatever rooftop Richie was on was high as all hell, the wind blowing his hair around his face, and he gulped. Where was he? Henry sat across from him, flipping a butterfly knife around his hands as if it was nothing. Richie felt the rope bite into his wrist and he hissed, catching Henry’s attention. _

_ “He isn’t coming, you know.” He said mockingly, giving Richie a look. “He won’t make it.” He checked his watch and then showed Richie. He was too far away to see the hands, but he didn’t really care about that. “Eleven minutes. That’s all he got. And he has to be fast to get- “ _

_ “He’s coming.” Richie choked out, coughing up blood. He grinned, looking a little insane. “Stan always comes. Pun intended.” _

_ Henry shook his head at him. “If he does, I’ll be shocked. And none of your dumb little jokes will get you anywhere, Tozier.” He pointed out, throwing the knife expertly towards him and catching the side of the chair. Richie gasped and felt his soul leave his body. Fuck, that was too close. Henry smiled. “Scared yet? You should be.” _

_ Always come back, alright? Always come back to me. _

** -Ten- **

When Bill’s brother died, Stanley brought blue roses to the funeral.

It would have seemed rather odd, considering the colour was unnatural to what people usually assumed roses to look like. The blue twinkled in the morning sun and Stan felt like he was holding a bouquet of rippling water. However, no one did ask why he brought them. Why roses. And why blue. Because everyone surrounding the grave of George Denbrough knew that blue roses were his favourite.

_ Were. _

The service had been short, no one really wanting to say anything - and due to Bill’s irritable stutter, he refused to even open his mouth - and the group had congregated inside the Uris Manor House for coffee, water, wine. Whatever they fancied, really. There were plates of food scattered across the large oak dining table, people littered in various chairs and small, polite chatter keeping the room from being silent. Probably a good thing, Stan thought as he entered his living room. Silence was the deadliest killer of them all, and the room was filled with killers that had been trained since birth.

Stanley glanced around the room, taking it all in, and frowned. He saw Mike and Eddie on the red velvet couch, talking to each other in hushed voices and Mike gently rubbing Eddie’s shoulder with his hand. Stan noticed the way Eddie leaned into his touch, resting a head on his arm and sniffling. Stan looked away as soon as Mike’s eyes darted to his, wanting to give them some privacy, and settled on trying to find the rest of his group. He saw Beverly walking straight to where Bill and his fiancé, Audra, were standing near the dining table.

Her red hair was tied back in a messy bun, long locks cascading across her face like fire, and he watched as she pulled the two of them into a tight hug, Bill gladly returning it, clenched fist bunching the back of her black dress. Beverly had never been one for funerals, always letting tears fall when she was trying to stay strong for the loved ones of the fallen. She was, however, exceptionally good at hugs, and from the state Bill was in it definitely seemed like he could use a Beverly hug right about now.

Ben was in the corner with a glass of whiskey. Straight with lemon, nothing else. Like always. Stan nodded at him and he gave him a nod right back, that’s all they needed to do. Ben was a quiet man and kept to himself in the group, never one for dramatics. He wasn’t like the others in the sense that he mostly used his brain rather than his physical talents. It meant he stayed behind during a lot of their jobs but that didn’t matter to him. He preferred being on the side-lines, watching the others and making sure they didn’t get themselves killed. Stan winced. Too soon.

A cough from behind him caught his attention, and Stan turned to see Richie. He paused. “I didn’t think you’d show.” He said plainly, knowing Richie wasn’t good around sad people. He had been terrible with displaying emotions since he was a child, and Stan had grown used to it. To the others it seemed like he didn’t care. Richie always cared. In fact, Richie cared too much.

“It’s Georgie.” He shrugged. “I had to come.” He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and a solemn look on his face. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and sighed. “I hate when it’s quiet.” He told Stan. “Then I have to think.”

“You never think.” Stan smirked.

Richie scoffed, taking a slight offence to that. He sipped on his drink - some fancy wine he didn’t know the name of - and looked around. “Good turnout.”

“Christ, Richie. It’s not a cocktail party.” Stan scolded. He took a look at Bill and sighed. “God. He must be trying so hard not to lose it.” He whispered, seeing his friends lower lip tremble.

Richie nodded, noticing it too. “Beverly told me he hasn’t stopped crying.” He told him. “Five straight days. Just tears. Audra keeps losing it too.” Richie downed his wine. “I can’t stand this...sad stuff.” He said. Stan knew he didn’t mean it to sound as bad as it did. Richie always had good intentions, but his filter was usually never on.

Stan eventually sighed. “Me neither.” He replied. He set his own drink down since he hadn’t touched it. “We have a job after this.” He said grimly.

“One of our own just died-“

“That doesn’t mean we stop what we’re doing.” Stan snapped. “We carry on. Georgie told us to.”

Richie grunted. “That’s fucked, dude.” He ran a hand through his curls. “What is it?”

Stan glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Club downtown. Some guys are bringing coke in.” He told him, grimacing at the memory of the last time they had to deal with a drug bust. It got messy, and Eddie even got shot in the arm. Mike hadn’t left his side at the hospital for days.

Richie rolled his eyes. “Fucking druggies. Fine. When are we going?” Stan looked around again.

“Well, it might be better to do it now.” He said plainly, not wanting to leave. He wanted to see Bill first, ask him what he needed. If he needed to go after anybody.

“Alright. Let me say bye to Bev, and I’ll be right behind you.” Richie nodded, heading towards their friend. Stan rubbed a hand over his face before turning to Bill and Audra, but they were gone. He frowned until he noticed them behind a door in the study, Bill sobbing into her arms. _Later. I’ll see him later. He needs time. A lot of time._

** -Nine- **

Stan’s car was a glistening black BMW with tinted windows, and the only way to get in was with his key and his key only. The glass and exterior were completely bulletproof, some of Eddie’s best handiwork, so no one could smash their way in. Richie was already leaning against it by the time Stan left the house, smoking a cigarette and nodding towards him.

“Ready to rock and roll, boss?” He asked. Stan grimaced.

“Don’t call me that.” He grumbled, unlocking the door and climbing inside. He calmed down a little as he sat on the leather seats, the air conditioning coming on the moment the car started. Richie sat beside him, and thankfully he had put the cigarette out. “Set the destination to downtown.” He told him, pulling out of the driveway. There were cars parked all the way up the road and he had to narrowly avoid hitting them all. He hated funerals.

“Which club?” Richie asked, fiddling with the SAT NAV.

“Vault.” Stan replied. Vault was notorious for criminal activity, constantly being shut down due to fights breaking out, people robbing the place, even a shootout at one point. Stan was shocked the place was even still running, but the man behind it – Patrick Hockstetter – always made sure it was open for business. He was a slimy man with greasy hair and neck tattoo of a clown that ran down to his chest. Stan had never hated someone more than him, and wanted him behind bars for the things he had done. Even better, six feet under. But Patrick was close with the city’s Chief of Police, Butch Bowers, and his son, Henry. So, every single one of his crimes went unnoticed.

But Stan’s family noticed.

Stan drove through downtown, the sky growing darker as the minutes ticked by. It was early evening and since it was a Friday night, everyone was going out. He never got that opportunity, growing up in the family he had. His father never allowed him to go out unless it was to train or for a job. Stan wasn’t exactly sad about this, however, since he was so used to it. But sometimes he did wonder what it would be like to just have a _normal_ life. What he would do with a free night and some friends. But all of his friends worked for him. He sighed and turned the car left.

“I can hear you thinking from here.” Richie smiled at him. Stan snorted.

“Just thinking about how these people have no idea what goes on behind the scenes.” He said, glancing around at the young adults all dressed up and laughing as they drunkenly stumbled to the clubs and bars around the city. He then looked over at Richie for a moment. “Did you ever go out? You know, before all of this.”

Richie grinned. “Sometimes. Couldn’t really afford it, you know? Most of my money went into college and ramen noodles.” Stan laughed along with him. “But yeah, when I was free and when I wanted to…I went out. It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”

Stan just shook his head. “I can’t. My father would kill me.” He turned right.

“Why though?” Richie asked curiously. He had only met Donald Uris a few times since he started working for his family and every time, the man had never acknowledged him. He was tall, a little daunting, and very stern. Didn’t exactly look like the ‘cool dad’ type.

“I have more important things to do.” Stan said firmly, putting the car into park once they were beside the backdoor to the club. They could hear the music thumping from inside and Stan glanced at Richie. “You got everything?” He asked.

Richie nodded, pulling out a 9 mm and clicking the safety off. “Got it. You?” Stan pulled out his own and nodded, getting out of the car and stuffing the gun into the holster under his suit jacket. He locked the car and followed Richie inside the back entrance of the club. The moment they stepped in a blast of hot air washed over Stan’s face. It smelt of sweat, sex, alcohol and weed. Everything was fast paced and bright, lights strobing over his head. Stan grimaced.

“Let’s make this quick.” Stan shouted over the bass and Richie nodded, letting him take the lead. He had been told they were in a back room somewhere, delivering coke and heroin to local addicts. Stan spotted a blue door near the lady’s bathroom and headed for it, only to see a familiar face across the dancefloor. “Bowers.” He said, stopping suddenly. Richie almost walking into him. Richie saw him and glared.

“What do we do?” He asked. Stan thought for a second before shaking his head.

“We get the job done and we leave.” He said simply before pressing forward. Richie rolled his eyes but hurried after him, not without giving Bowers one more look. The creep smiled at him, just smiled, and Richie felt his stomach clench up in fear. What did that mean?

The back room was dank and dirty, and Stan could hear moans coming from one room that made him feel sick. He took out his 9 mm and motioned for Richie to do the same, before slowly making his way down the dark corridor. There was chatter and laughter ahead of them and Stan faintly heard Patrick’s voice amongst them. A large door blocked their path and Stan stood on one side as Richie stood on the other. They looked at each other and Stan opened his mouth. “One, two, three- “

Richie kicked the door down with ease, holding his gun up. “Freeze!” He yelled. The group of men in the room turned to them, one dropping a bag containing what Stan and Richie assumed were drugs. They were all in their late forties whereas one, Patrick, was around Stan’s age. He glared at them.

“You motherfuckers.” He growled, his hands slowly going into the air. Stan cocked his gun as a warning and Patrick chuckled. “Go on then, shoot me. You don’t have the guts, Uris.”

“You wanna risk that?” Stan asked casually, moving closer to Patrick ever so slightly. This kid really got his blood boiling, and all he wanted was to pull the trigger. But that would cause mayhem. Richie went over to the older guys and started collecting the drugs from their hands, as well as the money.

“Thanks, boys. The police department will be very happy for your cooperation.” He smirked.

“You won’t get away with this, you know.” Patrick said to the two of them once Richie was at Stan’s side again. “You never do. We always get everything back. We always keep trying. You can’t stop the flow of this city.” Stan narrowed his eyes.

“Stop talking.” He said.

Patrick laughed at him. “You can’t stop it and you know it.” He spat. “No one can. Not even little Georgie Denbrough.” The entire room went silent. Stan opened his mouth in shock and his eyes widened. “Oh yeah, that little prick went down easy. Stuck a knife right into his throat, watched the bloody pour out.” He cackled like a mad man. Richie stared at Patrick as well and felt pure anger fill his body. Patrick opened his mouth to say something else when a shot rang out in the room. A couple of the old men ducked in fear, but they didn’t need to.

Stan never missed.

** -Eight- **

“Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve done?!” Donald Uris shouted at his son. They were in his office, a large oak room with red leather chairs, bookcases lining the walls and a grand oak desk placed in the middle. There were photos of the Uris family dating back generations on the mantle above the fireplace, Stanley’s portrait being the last one. Andrea Uris was at her husband’s side, standing as he was sitting. She had a grim face, but she stayed quiet. Stan only ever knew her as a quiet, introverted woman who kept to herself. She cared for him deeply, as she did for her husband, but refused to acknowledge the ‘family business’ that went on. Andrea stayed home and helped their cleaners clean and their cooks cook. Basically, she ignored everything around her. Stan wished he was that ignorant.

“I know, Dad.” Stan said tightly, gripping the arm chair. He had come home after the incident at Vault, not saying a word to Richie on the drive home. His friend had kept glancing at him every few minutes, trying to read his mind. But Stan still didn’t speak. He couldn’t. What he did may have seemed like a good thing to many other people in the city, but to his father – his family – it was the stupidest decision he could have made. And he _never_ made stupid decisions.

“You killed the _one_ person that was keeping the Bowers family off of our backs. We have spent years trying to bring them down from the inside, and what do you do? Shoot their fucking _LAP DOG_.” He slammed his open palm on the table and Andrea jumped in shock. Stan just winced. “How could you be so goddamn careless, Stanley?!”

“He brought up Georgie!” He cried, and silence fell across the family. Andrea looked at her son sadly, knowing how much Georgie meant to him, to all of his crew. Bill had been a long-time family friend, as had his parents, so they all knew Georgie well. Donald sighed, covering his face with his hand.

“I know it’s hard.” He said after a while. “But you cannot make these mistakes. They can get you killed, or those you love killed. What if Henry caught you then and there, huh? What would you have done then?” Stan went still. He really wasn’t sure. “Exactly.” Donald said, leaning back. His wife placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and he held it back, letting out a deep sigh. “You’ll have to go into hiding, for a while.” He said. “That family will be after you as soon as they find Hockstetter’s body, and who knows what they’ll do.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “Hiding? Where?” He asked. Donald gave him a grim look.

“You know where.”

** -Seven- **

“So, is this like vacation?” Richie asked, staring up at the motel with worried eyes. “Because…_surely_, we could get like, a villa or somethin’.” Stan sighed, taking hold of his suitcase. Richie rolled his eyes. “Just talkin’ to myself, I guess.” He grumbled, following his friend inside the motel.

It was grimy and stank of cheap beer, and Stan immediately hated it. But it was one of the hundreds his Dad owned in the city, so he knew it was well protected. He went up to the old man behind the desk and set his case down, watching as the guy ignored him. He was reading the paper, and Stan felt a pang of sickness in his gut when he read the headline:

** MAN FOUND GUNNED DOWN IN LOCAL NIGHTCLUB **

“Excuse me?” Stan said, only to get ignored again. He scowled, not in the mood for this, but didn’t need to complain since Richie was banging his fist on the small metal bell on the desk. The man jumped, dropping the newspaper, then stared at Richie in disgust. He just grinned at him.

“Mornin’, sir!” He said brightly. “My friend and I require a room, under the name of Uris.” The man grumbled but checked the computer.

“Room twenty-seven.” He said, handing Stan a key. “Sorry about the bed squeaking, by the way. Someone’s coming to fix it next week.”

Stan froze. “Bed? Only one of them squeaks?”

“There’s only one bed, kid.” Richie snorted.

“Oh, this should be good.”

“One bed?! I booked for-“

“Two, I know.” The man said with a scowl. “But we’re fully booked, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” The man then picked up his newspaper and went back to reading it, no longer caring if they were there or not. Stan scoffed and marched out of the office, Richie scurrying after him.

“It might not be that bad!” Richie tried to say, panting as he went up the stairs two at a time, trying to keep up with Stan’s long legs. “It’ll be like a sleepover, and sleepovers are fun, right?”

Stan snorted. “No. They’re not.” He said, trying to find their room.

“You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met, and I know _Eddie_.” He muttered. Stan rolled his eyes impatiently and eventually found the door. He unlocked it and pushed it open to reveal a small room with, as the desk guy said, one bed. He sighed. “Home sweet home.” Richie said under his breath.

** -Six- **

Stan laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Two days. That’s how long they’d been there. Two very long, very boring, and very irritating days. Richie had begun to get fed up of being kept in the same room all the time, and had thrown on a large hoodie and sunglasses to get snacks from the vending machine. Donald had given the two of them very strict instructions to not leave the room under any circumstances. But, as Richie commented earlier, they were starving. And Stan would have settled on eating Richie after another hour or two.

Stan was about to close his eyes and maybe try to get some sleep - sleeping beside Richie had proven almost impossible due to his snoring and fidgeting - when the door burst open and he groaned. "For fuck sake!" He shouted, throwing the pillow at Richie. His friend ducked, the pillow landing on the wall beside the door.

"Hey! No abuse!" He pouted, throwing Stan a bottle of strawberry flavoured water and some chocolate bars as well as a packet of chips. "Eat your supper." He said, flopping onto the bed beside Stan. Stan groaned but thanked him, opening the chips and digging in. His diet had been horrendous since leaving home but he promised to get back to his workout routine and food habits the moment they were safe again. If they were ever safe again. "You think they're still looking for us?" Richie asked after a while.

Stan could only shrug. "Maybe. Henry's pretty relentless." He mumbled. He moved to lean back on his hand when he suddenly felt Richie's bony fingers brush his, and he froze. Richie looked at him and blushed.

"Sorry." He said, and retracted his hand. Stan frowned, but didn't comment on what just happened. So what if their hands touched? It wasn't weird. But Richie had reacted weirdly..._why?_

"I'm gonna take a shower, okay?" Stan said once he was finished eating, standing up and stretching his legs before grabbing a towel. Richie nodded, lying on the bed and kicking his shoes off.

"Send me nudes!" He called, receiving a door slam in return. Stan rolled his eyes and shook his head, although he did smile a little. Fucking idiot.

As Stan showered, he wondered how long it would take for Henry to find them. He would eventually, unless his Dad managed to intervene before then. The waiting was the worst part of all of this by far. He had no idea if they were already being watched, and he shivered under the hot steam at the very thought. He ended his shower and stepped out, wrapping the towel around his waist and heading into the bedroom. Richie was already curled up under the covers fast asleep, and Stan smiled. He was a lot easier to deal with when he was asleep. Less talking.

Stan changed into some pyjamas and checked the doors and windows, making sure every single one was locked, before climbing into bed. His 9 mm was under his pillow, making him feel safer, and he sighed. He shuffled about trying to get comfortable when he heard Richie groan and roll over to face him. Stan's breath hitched when Richie's hand brushed his and he looked at him. He was still asleep, thankfully, but...well, he clearly didn't know what he was doing.

Apparently, Stan didn't either, seeing as he woke up the next morning holding Richie's waist.

** -Five- **

After five days, Richie got restless next. A lot of thoughts were going on in his head but one was more prominent than the others. And that was that he had never spent so much time with Stan in one single place. And it was driving him crazy. Sure, they had been on plenty of jobs together but none had ever lasted this long. He was typically used to people getting annoyed with him, but getting annoyed with someone else? It was practically unheard of. Richie stared as Stan changed into fresh clothes, wondering how he actually looked like that. His brain smacked him. _Don't be stupid. Stop staring at him._

Richie told Stan everything. That was how their friendship worked. It helped during jobs since they were the closest and they could trust each other with anything. But there was one thing Richie hadn't ever told Stan, and he doubt he ever actually would tell him. And that was that he might have the tiniest, most minuscule crush on him. Maybe it was his dirty blonde hair - that curled around his face in the most perfect way - or his hazel eyes - that went gold in the summer sun - or his sarcastic mouth - that Richie had imagined plenty of dirty things coming out of. Whatever it was, he was drowning in it.

Stan didn't feel the same way, he could tell. Stan never gave him a second thought in that regard. But to be honest, Richie had never seen Stan with anybody before. Guy or girl.

"Hey, Stan? You lost your v-card?" He heard himself asking before he could stop himself. Stan froze and turned to him.

"What?"

"Your v-card. Virginity. Have you been deflowered?"

"Christ, I get it!" He snapped, then cleared his throat as he smoothed out his shirt. "No. I haven't lost it. Why do you care?" He asked, a small blush rising on his pale cheeks. Richie's eyes went wide.

"Wait, really? But girls cream themselves over you all the time."

"Don't _ever_ fucking use that term again-"

"I'm serious! They do! You're like, the hottest guy I've ever seen!" Richie gulped. "I mean...that _they've_ ever seen." Stan frowned.

"Really?" He had always seen himself as awkward and too tall and too lanky. Not exactly most girls’ type. But...maybe he was wrong? "Well, thank you, Richie." He said. He sat on the bed beside him and fiddled with his hands. He hadn't thought about this before, sex not exactly being on top of his priority list. "Have you lost it?"

Richie squeaked. "I...uh...no." He sighed. "I've tried to but someone's always interrupted or I chickened out."

"How come?"

"Well I...I wanted to wait." He shrugged. Was he really admitting this right now? Christ. He really did have a motor mouth.

"You wanted to wait?" Stan smiled. "For who? I never imagined you doing something sweet like that."

Richie scoffed. "I can be sweet! Don't judge a book by it's gorgeous cover." He winked. But then he realised Stan asked who and he went quiet. "No one." He said softly._ Big fat lie, Tozier_. "Anyway, lets-"

"Hold on, you brought this whole conversation up." Stan said with a laugh. "Why are you changing the subject already? I'm curious now." He smirked at him and Richie could honestly say he felt a little nervous. "Come on, don't get shy, Rich. We're spending the next few days here, maybe more." He looked him up and down slowly, something he would never usually do. But...something shifted between them in that moment. Something new. "We might as well share stories."

Richie rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, clearly very scared of what was about to happen. "I don't have stories, Stanny." He said quietly. Stan smiled at him and slowly leaned closer.

"Do you want to have one?" He asked, his hand going to Richie's. Both of their hearts sped up. He had to be dreaming, yeah...just a very good..._vivid_...dream.

"Don't make fun of me." He said. And Stan gave him a genuine, sweet smile.

"I would never. Unless you made fun of me first." He then leaned forward and closed his eyes, hoping Richie would fill the gap. And he did, happily. The kiss was slow, inexperienced, and a little messy. But it was beyond perfect. It was something shared between two people that had hidden their feelings deep down for years and years, hidden their true selves for even longer. But being alone in that motel room made them realise something.

Time is short. Make the most of it. Because god knows, you might not have long left.

** -Four- **

Richie rolled off of Stan and laid down beside him, panting like a dog and pushing his sweaty hair back. “Wow…who knew sex was that fun?” He joked and Stan snorted, breathing just as heavy as he was. He supposed being locked in a room together for two weeks straight did have its perks. Since their little ‘confession’ they had experimented with each other every chance they got, only stopping to shower, use the bathroom, and get food without being noticed. Stan learned things about Richie that he never thought he’d know and Richie did the same to him. Both knew the taste of the other’s mouth, knew the way their hands felt on the others body, and how the other sounded in the height of their pleasure.

_ And it was addicting. _

Stan sighed and moved to his side, playing with Richie’s fingers on the pillow. “I wish we could go somewhere.” He said softly.

Richie frowned. “What do you mean?” He asked him gently, kissing Stan’s knuckles.

“Like…a nice restaurant. Or an arcade. Or even a damn book shop just…_somewhere_. Together.” He looked into Richie’s eyes as he spoke and wondered if he’d gone too far. But Richie was smiling wider than he had done in days and leaning forward to capture Stan’s plump, red lips in a heated kiss.

“I would absolutely love to go to a book shop with you, Stanley Uris.” He whispered, and Stan felt like he was on top of the goddamn world.

** -Three- **

Richie disappeared one-month in. Stan had just come back from grocery shopping, the two realising after a while that they really couldn’t live off of chips and cans of coke forever, to any empty motel room. At first, he didn’t think anything of it. They had gotten a lot braver as the days went by; walking further and further away each time they left. But they always came back, that was the rule they made one night whilst their pinkies were locked together. Richie had smiled at him that night, that big goofy smile he had most of the time.

“Always come back, alright? Always come back to me.”

And Stan did. Except, this time, there was no Richie to come back to.

“Rich?” He called, searching the motel room. He heard nothing. He thought he found nothing to, then he saw the note on the nightstand and he froze. It was long, a lot longer than a simple ‘went to the store’ note. He sat down on the bed when he read it, his hands shaking as he got further and further down the page.

** _ Uris. By the time you’ve read this, we would have been long gone. We have him, but I suppose you knew that. You’re smart, figure it out. You are exactly 11 minutes away from us. But where are we? Where’s Richie? How long ago did we leave? Figure it out. But either way, he’s dead, and so are you. You had this coming, Stanley. Don’t forget that. _ **

Stan felt sick to his stomach and he dropped the note to the ground. They found him. They found us. He gulped and looked around the apartment, trying to figure out what the hell to do. Eleven minutes. Where would they take him? What was so close?

Stan quickly took out his phone and searched google maps, typing in eleven minutes and seeing where the radius was. As he suspected, it was large. A mall on one side, a cluster of houses on the other, a few office buildings and then a garage. He panicked. They could have taken Richie to any one of those. Then he read the note again, and studied it. _You’re smart, figure it out._ He looked down at the collection of buildings on the map and he thought. He thought long and hard. Where would Henry Bowers go?

Stan carefully thought about each thing he saw in the eleven-minute radius. Henry most likely wouldn’t go to the mall. He had no connection there; no friends or family that worked there, no business that he owned – he wasn’t that powerful. He ruled that one out straight away.

The houses could be an interesting one. Maybe that was _his_ house? No, too easy. Too risky to expose his entire family like that. Then Stan remembered a map of the city that his father had hung up in his office. The Bowers estate had been circled in a bright red marker years ago. That was nowhere near the motel. He ruled the houses out, too.

The office buildings were most likely his best bet. They could be abandoned, ruined, completely empty and ripe for the taking. Perfect place to hide a kidnap victim like Richie. His heart sank. _They kidnapped Richie._ He shook his head and thought about the garage last. He knew that Henry liked his cars, but would he really bring Richie somewhere like that? It was a lot more exposed and in the public eye. Too crowded, most likely. But then again, so was a cluster of office buildings.

Stan shouted in anger and punched the wall, his hand throbbing with pain. Think Uris, think! He took one final look at the map again, hoping for another clue. Maybe something he missed before. Hidden in plain sight. And that’s when he realised. It wasn’t a cluster of office buildings at all, not even close. They were tall buildings, yes, and definitely _used_ to be office buildings. But there had also been a large reconstruction a few years back to change that. To bring more business in instead of just having the large rectangular buildings there for no reason. Stan stared at the buildings before pressing ‘street view’, and his heart stopped.

The building that automatically came up had a large sign of the huge double doors leading inside. Stan felt his entire body freeze. Of course, of fucking course.

_ Vault. _

Stan was up and on his feet in seconds, grabbing his gun, phone and suit jacket before sprinting out the door. He mentally said goodbye to the motel and the many memories it now held, and ran to the main road. It was just on the edge of the city, and Vault was a little further in Downtown. He could make it.

_ 11 minutes. _ He could make it.

Stan bolted, using speed he never even knew he had in him, and headed straight to where the map on his phone was guiding him. People gave him odd looks as he ran past them in their cars or on their bikes. He didn’t care whatsoever, all he cared about was getting to Richie.

_ 10 minutes. _

Stan didn’t falter when he got to the street lights, completely ignored the honks of the taxi’s around him and the car that almost skidded right into him. He even had to jump over the hood of one car as it skidded to a halt in front of him. Stan expertly landed on his feet and rounded a corner that led him down a damp alleyway. It smelt of rotting food and dirt, and he could feel his shoes getting ruined with every step he took, but that didn’t stop him either.

_ 8 minutes. _ I can make it.

** -Two- **

“Let me go! Fucking let me go!” Richie shouted as he was dragged by his arms into the back of Vault, two large bodyguards gripping him so tightly he knew he would have bruises later on. Richie kicked and wriggled in their arms but it was no use, and one even slammed his hip into the side of a wall to try and shut him up. Unfortunately, it worked. Richie cried out before hanging his head, letting himself be dragged across the sticky floor of the club, no idea why they were doing this to him.

He felt faint, and he was terrified. Where was Stan? Why hadn’t they waited for him too? Why did they only want Richie? So many questions floated around his head as he was dragged into an elevator, feeling them go up. The seconds ticked by and Richie eventually looked up. The two guards were still beside him, their grip not loosening whatsoever. He gulped. “Where are we going?” He choked out.

The guards glanced at each other before hoisting Richie onto his feet. He was about to thank them, and then he felt a sharp pain in his nose and he blacked out.

_ So much for that. _

** -One- **

It was cold. Freezing cold. Whatever rooftop Richie was on was high as all hell, the wind blowing his hair around his face, and he gulped. Where was he? Henry sat across from him, flipping a butterfly knife around his hands as if it was nothing. Richie felt the rope bite into his wrist and he hissed, catching Henry’s attention.

“He isn’t coming, you know.” He said mockingly, giving Richie a look. “He won’t make it.” He checked his watch and then showed Richie. He was too far away to see the hands, but he didn’t really care about that. “Eleven minutes. That’s all he got. And he has to be fast to get- “

“He’s coming.” Richie choked out, coughing up blood. He grinned, looking a little insane. “Stan always comes. Pun intended.”

Henry shook his head at him. “If he does, I’ll be shocked. And none of your dumb little jokes will get you anywhere, Tozier.” He pointed out, throwing the knife expertly towards him and catching the side of the chair. Richie gasped and felt his soul leave his body. Fuck, that was too close. Henry smiled. “Scared yet? You should be.”

_ Always come back, alright? Always come back to me. _ That’s what they had agreed on. Stan could make it…right?

Henry leaned back on his own chair and looked out over the cityscape, seeing the statue of Liberty on the horizon. He smiled. “Patrick always wanted to see that stupid thing.” He muttered, then his face twisted into a grim expression. “And now he never will.”

“How long did he live here, eight years? Pretty fucking stupid not to visit old Lady Liberty in eight years.” Richie pointed out with a smirk. Henry growled and threw his chair to the side, grabbing Richie by the throat and pushing his chair back so it tilted. Richie wasn’t afraid, he knew Henry was waiting for Stan. But then he felt a breeze hit his back and he looked behind him only to see a 100-foot drop below him. His stomach did summersaults and Richie panicked.

“Fuck! Henry, don’t! Please!” He begged desperately, gripping the back of the chair. “I’m sorry, man! Okay!” Henry looked him in the eyes, weighing up his options, before slowly bringing him back down. Richie sighed in relief. “Christ, I feel like I’m about to throw up.” Henry scoffed.

“Do it over the edge of the building, four eyes.” He muttered, turning his back to Richie. Richie stuck his tongue out at him, but deep down he was beyond terrified. I might die today. On this fucking roof. All alone. Stan-

_ -was downstairs, snapping a guard’s neck. He didn’t have any expression on his face, just a stone-cold look as he made his way up the building. He had less than three minutes left and he still had to get into the elevator. He could see it ahead of him, but heard footsteps pounding on the floor behind him. Stan grunted and pushed forward, jumping into the elevator and slamming his fist on the top floor button. Every over level except the top and the club floor was closed, so he could only go up. He just hoped that Richie- _

-“you seriously talk too fuckin’ much.” Henry groaned, already fed up of his plan to take Richie in order to get Stan. He assumed Richie would have shut up by now and accepted his fate, but no. He was, if anything, talking even more than before. And it was driving Henry insane.

“Some say it’s a talent.” Richie said, spitting out blood. He had been hit a number of times by Henry now, and his jaw ached like a bitch. But he felt like he was wearing him down and that was enough to keep going. Richie looked towards the door that led down into the building, and he sighed. _Come on, Stan. _

“I call it a fucking nuisance.” Henry said, pulling a gun from underneath his shirt and pointing it straight at Richie. “Now, are you gonna finally shut up? Or do I have to make you?” Henry cocked the gun and grinned, aiming it right between Richie’s eyes, before screaming in pain as a gunshot went off. Henry clutched his hand, his own gun falling to the floor, and stared in horror at the three stumps were his three middle fingers had been. He screamed again and turned to see Stan standing a few feet away, gun in his hand and hatred in his eyes.

“Finally.” Richie breathed. “Think you can get me outta here, sugah?” Stan managed to smile at Richie a little for that. Even now he was cracking jokes. Henry yelled in anger and got to his feet, his bloody hand going to his side.

“You fucker! You took Patrick from me!” He cried. Stan kept his gun trained on him as he slowly moved to the left, heading towards Richie.

“I know. And he took Georgie from us.” Stan countered.

Henry cackled. “You stupid fuck!” He spat, watching as Stan grabbed Henry’s butterfly knife and used it to cut off the rope around Richie’s hands. His right-hand man shakily stood up and leaned into him, Stan wrapping a protective arm around his waist. “You think Patrick killed him? I did.” He snarled, grinning from ear to ear. Richie whimpered into Stan’s shoulder and Stan felt his own body freeze up. Henry did it?

“We’re even now, Henry.” He said. “You take one of mine, I take one of yours. Let’s call it quits.” Stan tried to reason with him, but Henry wasn’t having it. He started to walk forward and Stan raised his gun higher. “Don’t-“

“You can’t do shit, Uris. You’re a scared little baby, just like the rest of your good for nothing fa-“Stan shot him in the knee and Henry screeched in pain as he collapsed. Richie gasped and almost gagged at the amount of blood pouring from Henry’s body.

“Christ, that’s gross.” He mumbled. Stan nodded in agreement. It was very gross. He stepped forward, taking Richie with him, and stood over Henry’s body.

“It didn’t have to end like this, Henry.” He said sternly. “But not only did you take Georgie away from me, but you took Richie. I can’t let that happen again.” As Stan spoke, Richie stared up at him in awe. Did Stan really think that highly of him?

Henry laughed to himself then grimaced in pain. “You really think you can take me down?” Henry gasped out. “You really think my father won’t skin you alive for this?!”

Stan shrugged. “Maybe. But at least I won’t have died as pathetically as you.” He raised his gun once more, ignoring Henry’s cry of anger, and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on both of their ankles and Stan groaned. “That’ll take weeks to wash out.”

Richie stared at him before leaning up to kiss him hard, clutching Stan’s hair and breathing heavily. “You came.” He whispered.

“I came.” Stan said, then smiled. “Pun intended.”


End file.
